


First Blood

by umakoo



Series: Suspended in Dusk [1]
Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Vampires, mild dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 14:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's life turns upside down when Chris, a newly turned vampire, stumbles in through his bedroom window one January morning to escape the sunrise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part in my Hiddlesworth vampire AU series. The fic contains explicit depictions of blood and blood-drinking. I'm not following the "rules" of traditional vampirism super closely, so you won't find any garlic or cross allergy etc. in this :P
> 
> Big hugs and thanksies to Daria, Amber and Becky for the beta and all the help <3
> 
> I originally posted a prompt for a vampire AU on Tumblr and I never meant to tackle it myself, so I have no idea what happened and how this has suddenly grown into a series, but everyone is still free to do their take on [the original prompt](http://umakoo.tumblr.com/post/74096529442/so-i-kinda-had-this-modern-day-hiddlesworth) if they're interested :3

Tom awoke gradually as the clock radio on his nightstand went off and began to play quiet music into the cool blue darkness of his bedroom.  
   
The times they are a-changing, sang a sincere young female voice covering Bob’s classic.  
   
Tom rolled over onto his back and brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his crusty eyes and running his sleep-stiffened fingers through his hair. He lingered in bed until the song was over and stuffed his feet into his slippers where they were laid ready next to the bed, shielding his bare feet from the cold that seeped in through the old wood floor.  
   
A carpet would be lovely, Tom thought every winter, but he never seemed to find the time to renovate. The flat had belonged to his nan and Tom had moved in a few years ago when his parents had made the difficult decision to put her in a home.  
   
He walked to the window and pushed the curtains aside, twisting the latch to open the side window enough to let in fresh morning air before making his way to the bathroom.  
   
Tom squinted and blinked his eyes as the bright light above the mirror cabinet flickered on. He leaned his hands against the sink and observed his reflection. His eyes were still puffy and slightly red from sleep and the four day stubble he was sporting made him look a decade older. He turned the knobs on the faucet and splashed his face with lukewarm water, patting it dry with a soft towel.  
   
He grabbed a comb from a jar inside the cabinet and ran it through his auburn hair, which was getting much longer than he liked, but it was for a role and there was nothing he could do about it unless he wanted to wear a wig, which he didn’t, because the damn things itched like hell. Once the worst sleep-woven tangles were tamed, Tom fetched his bathrobe from the hook on the bedroom door and allowed his rumbling stomach to lead him downstairs to the kitchen.

  
He moved around in the small space between the fridge and the sink, filling the kettle and chewing on a biscuit covered with marmalade as he waited for the water to boil. The sky above London was turning brighter as the sun began to rise behind the rooftops and it looked like it was going to be an exceptionally beautiful early January day.  
   
The kettle whistled on the stove and Tom hurried to pour the boiling water into his favourite mug, stirring his tea with an old silver spoon that had turned an ugly rusty colour over the years.

  
   
The city slowly came alive and welcomed the new day as Tom sat at the kitchen table, going over the revised copy of a script, mouthing lines between chewing his toast and washing everything down with lemony tea.  
   
He let out a pained yelp when a sudden loud clatter coming from upstairs caused him to gulp too much hot tea into his mouth and burn his tongue.  
   
The sounds got louder and Tom set his mug down, craning his neck to listen. Another loud bang, followed by what sounded like a window being shoved open.

Tom’s eyes went wide as he realized there was someone in his house.

He stood up from the table, hurrying upstairs, and froze at the bedroom door as he laid his eyes on the man climbing in through his open window.  
   
“Goodness,” Tom gasped when the man fell to the floor head over heels, his feet still hanging outside as he tried to force his body in through the narrow window.  
   
Tom continued to stare, barely comprehending what he was witnessing. His first thought was that the man was a drug addict or a burglar, but Tom couldn’t figure out how he had even manage to climb up to his window, because there was a five meter drop and nothing but brick wall outside.  
   
Tom’s eyes grew even wider when he noticed that it looked like the man was actually letting off  _steam_  where the first beams of sunlight hit the exposed skin of his hands and face.  
   
“Please… help me,” the stranger groaned, finally dragging himself inside. He began to yank on the drapes to pull them across the windows, but all he managed to do was drag the entire curtain rack down with his desperate fumbling.  
   
He got tangled in the long, heavy curtains and the sight might have been amusing if Tom hadn’t been utterly flabbergasted and bloody terrified.  
   
“It burns,” the man croaked, and Tom finally snapped out of his shocked daze as he realized the stranger was crawling towards him, trying to use the curtains to shield his body from the sunlight that hit the floor through the open window.

“I need… somewhere dark… please.”  
   
Drug addict or not, Tom could see the man was in very obvious pain and he hurried to grab him by his arms, half carrying, half dragging him into the bathroom at the other end of the second floor landing.  
   
Tom watched as the man scrambled into the clawfoot tub and folded his long legs against his chest, curling into a tiny ball like a frightened child, his breathing rapid and out of control. He hid his face in the crook of his right arm, trembling inside the porcelain bath. Strange smoke still still rose from his body and Tom had to cover his face with the collar of his robe when the stench of burning flesh reached his nostrils.  
   
“Close the… close the door, please,” the man gasped, his voice muffled by the sleeve of his dirty leather jacket.  
   
Tom nodded and hurried to shut the door. “It’s closed now,” he panted, trying to get his own hammering heart to slow down in his chest. “Are you alright?”  
   
Slowly, the man unwound his body and turned to look at Tom over his shoulder. Tom let out a loud gasp when he saw the bright red burn marks on the stranger’s face. He hurried to kneel beside the bathtub, reaching out to inspect the injuries.  
   
He was rewarded with a strange, animalistic growl and he recoiled when the man shot up and grabbed him, his fingers digging painfully into the muscles of Tom’s shoulders. Tom cried out, but the hands on his shoulders suddenly went limp and the man slumped back to the bottom of the tub, falling unconscious, as if the simple act of grabbing Tom had been too much for him.  
   
Tom fell on his arse and he backed away to the other side of the bathroom, leaning against the cream-coloured wall, his fingers squeezing around the hem of his robe.  
   
   
Minutes ticked by and the man in the tub remained unconscious. Tom eventually gathered enough courage to move closer once more. His eyes landed on the burn marks and he could tell the skin was badly damaged all over the stranger’s face. It had peeled off like old paint around his cheeks and forehead, and his knuckles and fingers looked equally raw and red. There were dark circles around his eyes and his skin had a strange, sickly pallor. Tom pressed his fingers against the man’s neck, feeling for a pulse, and he felt a mixture of sadness and horror as he realized the man had died in his bathtub.  
   
He got to his feet to fetch his mobile and ring for an ambulance, but something on the man's face caught his eye and Tom nearly forgot how to breathe when he realized what it was.  
   
The angry red lesions were beginning to heal right before Tom’s eyes.

He dropped down to his knees and gripped the edge of the tub, staring in utter disbelief as the blisters and the pink flesh slowly melted away and smooth, pale skin covered the man’s face once more.  
   
Tom shook his head, struggling to grasp what he had just witnessed. He leaned over the edge of the bathtub and moved closer to press his ear against the man’s parted lips to listen for signs of life.  
   
The man was still unconscious, but there was a sudden deep inhale, followed by low rumbling sound resonating from his chest. Tom backed away when he saw the vicious, almost hungry grimace on the man's face – and then, two pearl-white teeth protruding from his pink gums, growing into long sharp fangs.  
   
“Good Lord,” Tom gasped, scrambling to his feet and hurrying out of the bathroom.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Tom paced around in the second floor hallway, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door. He had pushed a sturdy chair against it, making sure the handle couldn’t be fully turned. The window in his bedroom was still open, the curtains left in a pile on the floor, the broken rack hanging askew from the top of the window frame. Tom's mind was reeling as he struggled to understand the strange events of the morning. He tiptoed closer and pressed his ear against the bathroom door. It was deadly quiet on the other side.  
   
Should he call the police or an ambulance or both? Would they even believe him or would they think he was making a prank call? Tom shocked himself when he ended up calling the theatre, feigning a cold and apologizing for having to miss the day’s rehearsals.  
   
   
   
It was past eleven when Tom finally managed to calm himself enough to change out of his robe and slippers, and once he had dressed, he closed the bedroom window, folded the drapes and pulled the broken rack down.  
   
His thoughts continued to fixate on the strange sight of the sharp, white fangs, and every time Tom began to wonder if he had actually seen them, he reminded himself that it wasn’t possible. He shook his head, letting out a quiet, hysterical laugh. Not possible.  
   
Half an hour later, Tom stepped into his study and turned on his laptop, taking a seat at the large mahogany desk. He pushed aside stacks of papers and old scripts and set his steaming mug of coffee on the closest empty spot he could find.  
   
“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this…” Tom muttered as he opened the browser and typed “vampires” into the search engine.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
Tom was startled out of his thoughts by a noise coming from inside the upstairs bathroom. He glanced to his left and saw that the sky had turned dark blue; he had spent the entire day in front of his computer. Another sound, this time a rattle as the door knob was being turned. Tom shut his laptop and stood up from the chair, hurrying upstairs.  
   
He stopped at the final step and peered into the hallway from behind the corner. The bathroom door was still closed, but the chair kept shaking as the door knob was being turned from the other side. Tom fixed his grip on the umbrella he had grabbed on his way up and held it like a sword as he walked toward the door, his steps wary.  
   
   
“Hello?” a small, hesitant voice called from the bathroom. It was followed by a quiet knock. “Anyone out there?”  
   
Tom licked his lips nervously as he came to stand before the closed door, his grip on the umbrella so tight his knuckles were turning white.  
   
“Uh, yes,” he said. “I-I’m sorry but I had to lock you in."  
   
There was a long stretch of silence before he got an answer.  
   
“That’s ok, I understand,” the stranger spoke from the other side. “To tell you the truth, mate, I would have done the same.”  
   
Tom was taken aback by how weak and resigned the man sounded. He also noticed there was a strong accent in his voice, Australian, maybe, Tom thought.  
   
“Are you alright?” Tom asked after another stretch of silence.  
   
“Not really…”  
   
Tom frowned when he heard the man let out a humorless bark of laughter.  
   
“You’re not going to believe me, but… I think I might be a vampire.”  
   
There was more laughter, this time a little hysterical.  
   
Tom’s thoughts turned to the numerous articles he had read during the day. He gave a weak chuckle. “I'm sorry to say this, but I think you might be right.”  
   
   
There was an awkward moment when neither of them knew what to say. It was all so absurd. Who even believed in the old blood suckers in this day and age? Lunatics and people with too vivid imaginations, that’s who.  
   
“What’s your name?” Tom finally asked, just to break the silence.  
   
“Chris.”  
   
“Hi, Chris, I’m Tom.”  
   
“Hi…” Chris’ voice was still weak, but there was a friendly, almost soft edge to it. “So. What do we do now?”  
   
“Well, I suppose I should let you out,” Tom said, sounding a little uncertain. “But you must promise not to… not to bite me, alright?” Did he really just say that?  
   
Chris was quiet for a long time and Tom’s brows knit together in slight trepidation.  
   
“Chris?”  
   
“I promise.”  
   
   
Tom set the chair aside and stepped back to watch as the door knob turned slowly. Chris pushed the door ajar, eyeing Tom from the narrow crack. When he finally stepped out, Tom couldn’t stop himself from flinching and backing away a few steps. Chris’ eyes landed on the umbrella and he gave Tom such an apologetic look that Tom was suddenly reminded of the old golden retriever he’d had as a boy. It was absurd, really. This man was possibly one of the most lethal creatures out there.  _Fictional_  creatures, Tom reminded himself, shaking his head, not quite sure if he was even awake.  
   
Judging by the look on his face, Chris was equally baffled.

  
   
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to crash in through your window this morning, but-"  
   
“Oh, it’s alright, no need to apologize."  
   
“I didn’t know what else to do. The bloody sun was coming up and I had no place to go and I saw your window was open and I-"  
   
“Really, it’s alright,” Tom assured. He almost placed his hand on Chris’ shoulder, but he stopped himself just in time.  
   
“Thanks,” Chris said, giving Tom a faint smile. “I think you may have actually saved my life.”  
   
Tom didn’t know how to respond to that, because that would mean he’d have to admit that what he’d seen that morning hadn’t been some strange hallucination.  
   
   
“So…” Chris said. He scratched his blond hair, which was pulled back to a half-unravelled ponytail and tucked some of the loose strands that framed his face behind his ear.  
   
Tom realized Chris looked even paler than before. His face had an ill, sunken look and there was a visible tremble in his hands. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, but a marvellous shade of blue, made even more striking by the thick, dark lashes.  
 

  
“I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but you don’t look very well.”  
   
“Yeah, I feel like absolute shit,” Chris said, staring at his own trembling hand.

"Should we get you to a doctor or-"

"No!" Chris shook his head. "Please, no doctors or hospitals."

Tom frowned, but he gave a nod. “I still think it might be best if you stay off your feet,” he said, urging Chris to follow him downstairs, guiding him into the small living room.  
   
Chris gave him a grateful smile and took a seat in Tom’s nan’s old chair, sinking into the plush velvet cushion with a heavy thud.  
   
Tom sat down stiffly on the couch, drumming his fingers against his knees as another awkward silence descended between them.

  
   
“So you actually believe me, then?” Chris asked after a while, his voice laced with humorless laughter.  
   
Tom bit his lower lip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I suppose I do... I actually did a bit of reading while you slept. Hang on,” He went into his study to fetch the articles he had printed out and handed them to Chris’ trembling hands. “Most of it is nothing but old wives’ tales and folklore,” Tom said, rolling his eyes.  
   
Chris leafed through the stack of papers, shaking his head as he took in the illustrations and the various articles Tom had found online. “How can anyone believe this?” he breathed, glancing up at Tom from the article that listed different symptoms of vampirism in a very detailed manner.  
   
“I, uh, I did see your fangs,” Tom said, still not entirely convinced he hadn’t imagined it. “You were unconscious, but I saw them protrude from here and here.” He revealed his own straight set of teeth and pressed his fingers against the gums above his blunt canines. “I hate to say this, but they looked very real to me.”  
   
Chris closed his mouth tightly, but Tom could see the tip of his tongue move against his teeth and lips as he felt for hidden fangs.  
   
“Did I hurt you?” Chris asked, watching Tom from under his brows, and there it was again, the hurt puppy look.  
   
“Oh, no,” Tom shook his head. “You fell unconscious almost as soon as I got you out of the sunlight. You must have been asleep for hours.”  
   
“I still feel like shit,” Chris confessed, “like I’m having the hangover of the century.”  
   
“You do look rather unwell,” Tom agreed. “How about I fix us something to eat?”  
   
Chris gave an eager nod. “Thanks, mate,” he smiled, turning his eyes back to the articles as Tom disappeared into the kitchen.  
   
   
Tom returned fifteen minutes later with a tray full of jam and toast and two mugs of steaming, hot tea. He set the tray on the coffee table and joined Chris by the large bookshelves that covered one whole wall in the living room.  
   
“So you’re into plays, huh?” Chris asked, glancing at Tom over his shoulder, holding up a collection of Oscar Wilde’s writings.  
   
“I am, yeah,” Tom smiled, joining Chris at the bookshelf. “I’m an actor, actually,” he said, unable to keep the sheepish grin from his face.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“Mmmh, I’m currently rehearsing a play. We're doing Cymbeline and the premiere is in a few months.”  
   
Tom told Chris a bit about the character he was playing and the earlier awkwardness seemed to disappear as they fell into a comfortable conversation. What happened that morning almost felt like a dream, and Tom was about to voice his thoughts when he noticed the way Chris’ breathing seemed to suddenly quicken, as if he was struggling with Tom's close proximity. Chris squeezed his eyes shut and lurched back. He dropped the book he was holding and few of the pages came loose as it hit the floor at their feet.  
   
“I’m sorry, I-“  
   
“No need to apologize,” Tom said. He picked up the book and helped Chris back to the armchair, handing him a cup of tea and a generously buttered piece of crisp toast.  
   
Chris bit into it with the hunger of a famished beast and swallowed the entire thing almost without chewing. A few seconds later, he grabbed his chest, his face twisting in agony.  
   
“Chris?”  
   
Tom watched on in horror as Chris began to throw up all over his nan’s old antique rug. He coughed and spluttered, falling on his knees, pieces of bread and something that looked like bile mixed with blood spilling from his mouth.  
   
“Oh my God,” Tom cried out, hurrying to kneel beside Chris, rubbing a hand across his back. “What happened? Are you alright?” Tom asked, alarmed.  
   
“It’s the food,” Chris moaned, still coughing and spitting out pieces of toast. "I can't keep it down."  
   
Tom eyed the pool of bloody vomit on the floor. He backed away in horror, slumping against the coffee table. Chris met his eyes, equally frightened.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
Tom tried to scrub the carpet clean while Chris was in the shower. There were small alarm bells going off somewhere in the back of his mind as he became more and more convinced that his guest really was a bloody vampire, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Tom briefly wondered if he should be draping garlic around his neck and carving wooden stakes, but he quickly dismissed the thought, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of it. He heard the bathroom door open upstairs and a moment later, Chris appeared in the living room doorway, one of Tom’s guest towels wrapped around his narrow hips.  
   
“Sorry about that, mate,” Chris said, pointing at the carpet.  
   
“No harm done,” Tom smiled, shaking his head. His eyes swept over Chris’ half-naked body, still glistening with water.  
   
Most fictional vampires were described as beautiful, graceful creatures and vampire or not, Chris was no exception. He was a little younger than Tom, perhaps in his late 20s, tall and broad, his muscled body beautifully proportioned. His face was ruggedly handsome with a hint of boyish charm, and even the sickly complexion didn’t diminish his beauty.  
   
Tom felt his cheeks heat up as he realized he was staring. He blinked and tore his eyes away, clearing his throat. “I laid out some clean clothes for you in the bedroom,” he said, grabbing the bucket and the rubber gloves to carry them into the kitchen.  
   
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Chris said, squeezing Tom's shoulder as he edged past him.  
   
   
Tom waited in the kitchen, rolling an apple from palm to palm to distract his nervous hands. Chris joined him after a while, now dressed in a pair of sweat pants and Tom’s old school jersey, both of them a little tight on his much wider body.  
   
Chris took a seat at the table across from Tom and they both looked out of the window at the quiet street, their reflections staring back at them from the glass.  
   
“I guess this means I’ll never see another sunrise again,” Chris said. He tried to sound flippant, but Tom caught the frightened tremble in his voice.  
   
“Chris, what on earth happened to you?”  
   
Chris leaned back in his chair and shook his head, searching for an answer. “I really have no idea. The last five or six days are a total blur. I don’t even live in London. I’m from Cardiff and I was in town to see a bunch of mates. All I remember is going out with the blokes and getting shitfaced. I must have left the club on my own or something.” Chris’ thick brows knit together as he struggled to piece together his blurry memories. “I remember an empty street and the headlights of a car driving by. I got in and there was this gorgeous bird in the back and we made out and then… all I remember is a searing pain and blood and heat and… arousal,” Chris peered up at Tom, the look on his face a little embarrassed, but no colour rose to his cheeks. “I think that’s when I was bitten?”  
   
Tom nodded. “Most likely.”  
   
“The next thing I remember is roaming the goddamn countryside, my daks and jacket all covered in mud. I looked like I had crawled my way through a pile of dirt or something. I lost my wallet, my ID, my keys, everything.”  
   
“Then what?” Tom asked. He was leaning across the table now, eager for Chris to continue his story.  
   
“It really is all a blur, mate.” Chris said. He let out a startled laugh, shaking his head. “I think I may have killed a pig or a sheep to feed myself, I’m not sure. It’s like I was running on pure instinct. I must have slept in a barn or something and when I made my way back to the city, I remember spending a few days in one of the out-of-order loos in the underground. The next thing I knew I was climbing in through your window, because my skin was on fire.”  
   
They were still several hours away from dawn, but Chris seemed anxious at the thought of sunrise.  
   
“You can stay here for tonight,” Tom offered. “I mean, for tomorrow,” he corrected himself as he realized Chris would sleep through the day.  
   
“Are you sure?” Chris asked, eyes wide. “You really don’t have to do that. I can find another place to crash.”  
   
“It’s no trouble,” Tom said, reaching across the table to take Chris’ hand in his own. “I won’t have you sleeping in some dirty toilet in your condition. We can figure out what to do when you’re feeling better.”  
   
Chris gave Tom’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, Tom.”  
   
“All you have to do is promise not to bite me,” Tom grinned.  
   
  


* * *

  
   
   
Chris paced around the living room, his eyes fixed on the windows. They had used black bin bags to cover every window inside Tom’s flat, but the mere knowledge that the sun was going to rise in an hour made Chris anxious.  
   
He roamed around the flat and ended up climbing upstairs. The door to Tom’s bedroom was closed, but Chris knew Tom wasn’t asleep. He could hear the beat of his heart through the walls, too quick to belong to someone who was unconscious. Chris continued to listen to the sound of Tom’s heartbeat and he gripped the bannister, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt his entire body convulse. There was a strange pressure building in his chest, an urge he didn’t understand.  
   
The sounds of early morning traffic flooded his ears from miles away and the beat of Tom’s heart in the next room was becoming more and more distracting. Chris paced the darkened hallway, running his fingers through his hair as the pressure in his chest continued to build.  
   
“What the hell…”  
   
Chris was suddenly sure he could smell the blood that flowed through Tom’s veins and they weren’t even in the same room!  
   
He hurried back downstairs and sat in the chair near the fireplace, sinking his fingers into the arm rests to stop the trembling of his hands. He could still hear Tom’s every breath and the rustle of his sheets as he tossed and turned in his bed and he smelled the sweat and musk of Tom's skin and the clean scent of the shampoo and soap he used.  
   
The restlessness in Chris was becoming unbearable. His mind grew foggy and he buried his face in his hands.  
   
He was  _hungry_.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
Tom was moments away from drifting to sleep when a low creak from the hinges of his bedroom door drew him back to consciousness. He turned to look over his shoulder, watching as the door was slowly pushed open.  
   
There was suddenly a dark shape looming at the end of his four-poster bed.  
   
“Chris?” Tom whispered. He sat up in the bed and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. “Is everything alr-“  
   
A heavy weight fell on Tom, pinning him against the mattress.  
   
“Chris!”  
   
Tom’s struggles were all in vain. Chris felt huge and heavy spread out on top of him. It was dark in the room, but Tom could make out the strange, luminous glow of Chris’ eyes as they bore into him, his cold, moist breath hitting Tom’s face as he panted above him.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered, his voice strangled. “I can’t help it.”  
   
“Chris, wait-“  
   
Tom let out a pained cry when Chris sank his fangs into the supple, vulnerable flesh of Tom’s neck. His arms shot up and he yanked on Chris’ shirt, thrashing under the heavy, unmovable body, beating his fists against Chris’ broad back.  
   
Chris grunted and let out loud ragged breaths through his nose as he began to feed from Tom, his massive bulk pinning Tom to the bed and rendering him helpless. Blood flowed through the small wounds in Tom’s throat just below his jaw, but the initial pain from the fangs tearing his skin didn’t last long, and it was soon replaced with the strangest sensation Tom had ever experienced. He had never done hard drugs, but he could imagine the high from them might be similar to what he was feeling. His mouth fell open and he let out a shaky moan at the rush of immense pleasure coursing through his body.  
   
Chris continued to suckle on his neck and his tongue slid out every once in a while to lap at the warm blood that poured out from the puncture wounds.  
   
“Chris…” Tom panted as he felt Chris seal his mouth on his neck once more. He was vaguely aware that he was hard inside his pyjama pants and there was nothing Tom could do to prevent his hips from lifting up and grinding against Chris’ flat stomach.  
   
Chris continued to drink, grunting like a beast on top of Tom. The feeling of arousal was starting to fade away quickly and Tom began to panic as he felt himself become weak and light-headed.  
   
“Stop… please,” he groaned. “That’s too much, Chris. You have to stop!”  
   
Chris didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to be aware of his surroundings, increasing the suction on Tom’s neck.  
   
Tom reached out with his right hand, blindly groping for something blunt and heavy to use as a weapon. His fingers wrapped around the thick marble foot of the lamp on the nightstand. Tom mustered what strength remained in his body and yanked the lamp up, crashing it into Chris’ head.  
   
Chris let out a pained cry and his mouth withdrew at the impact. Tom’s vision was swimming, but he could tell the dark shape above him was pulling away and the weight that had pinned him down was suddenly gone.  
   
“Of fuck... Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Tom.”  
   
Tom let his eyes flutter closed and he slid into deep unconsciousness.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Chris ran down the empty street without any sense of direction. His entire body was still tingling with the strength and renewed vitality he had received from the feeding and he was distantly aware that he had never run this fast in his life. It was as if he possessed an extra pair of feet and they carried him on at an incredible speed.  
   
The sky above him was turning light blue and dawn was only a few precious moments away. Chris knew he had to hide, but he was completely lost. The area wasn’t familiar to him and he had no idea where he was heading. He briefly thought of trying to make his way back to the hotel he’d been staying at, but he realized there was no way they would let him in if he showed up at the front desk without his key or an ID, mouth covered in blood and raving like a lunatic.  
   
Chris glanced up at the sky as he continued to run. Fear bloomed in his chest when he sensed the imminent sunrise.  
   
“Oh fuck.”  
   
He glanced around and threw himself over a brick wall in sheer panic, yanking open the door of a small gardening shed in the corner of someone’s backyard. He dove inside and breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes landed on a neatly folded dark green tarp on the shelf to his left. Chris grabbed it and spread it open enough to crawl under it.  
   
He was huddled in the corner of the shed when the sun finally came up, his knees drawn up and his face hidden in his hands. He was safe under the tarp, but Chris felt utterly exposed, hoping no one would come in and open the door of the shed until nightfall.  
   
He felt bile rise up in his throat as he finally had time to stop and think what he had done. Chris could still taste the rich, warm,  _utterly delicious_  flavor of Tom’s blood on his tongue. Drinking from him had been like finding some sort of strange completion. Chris had never felt anything like it and the void he’d carried inside him for days had filled as soon as Chris had drawn his first taste of blood from Tom’s jugular.  
   
He began to shake, fighting back the need to vomit. He had just drunk the blood of an actual human being.  
   
“Christ…”  
   
   
Chris wondered if Tom was going to be okay. He had done his best to lick the wound and seal it before he’d fled the apartment, but there was a good chance Tom would still die from blood loss. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive away the crippling guilt that rose in his chest.  
   
Tom had been so kind to him and Chris had repaid him by draining his blood.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Tom turned his bleary eyes toward the night stand. The clock radio told him it was past noon.  
   
“Damn,” he hissed, aware that he had over slept and was already running behind his daily schedule.  
   
As Tom sat up he felt his head spin and he closed his eyes and took a moment to catch his breath, waiting for the spell of dizziness to pass.  
   
Memories of pain and a heavy weight pinning him down suddenly flooded Tom’s mind and he let out a horrified cry, his hand shooting to his neck. The skin under his fingertips was tender, but there was no trace of teeth mark or a wound of any kind. He wondered if he had dreamt the whole thing, but as he glanced down at his pillow, he could see there were dark stains on the white Egyptian cotton.  
   
It had all been real.  
   
Tom stumbled out of bed and made his way into the hallway, his steps wary as he peered from doorway to doorway, leaning against the walls to keep himself from fainting. The apartment was quiet save for the steady tick of the clock on the mantelpiece in the living room. There was no sign of Chris anywhere, but Tom took note of the way the small green rug by the front door was askew. It looked like someone had left the apartment in a hurry.  
   
Tom shuffled into the living room and took down one of the bin bags. The noon sun shone through a crack in the overcast sky. Tom let his gaze wander down the street, hoping Chris had found shelter in time.

He had to call a cab, because he was too dizzy to drive and he spent the entire Tuesday afternoon at the ER, getting treated for blood loss. It was rather awkward when Tom had no explanation for how he had come to lose such a great amount of blood without having any wounds on his body.  
   
By Wednesday morning his health had improved enough to allow him to attend the rehearsals, but work was rather horrible. Tom had a hard time concentrating on anything as his thoughts continued to revolve around his meeting with Chris. He was constantly forgetting his lines and it was becoming embarrassing for Tom and frustrating for his fellow thespians. The director eventually ordered them all to take a break and Tom was glad for the reprieve.  
   
   
“How do you feel about vampires?” he asked Lucy and Dave as they were all seated in the lunch room, trying to sound as casual as possible.  
   
“Vampires?” Lucy echoed. “You mean Dracula and the pretty, sparkling lads kids are into these days?”  
   
“I mean vampires in general,” Tom said, keeping his eyes fixed on the orange he was peeling. “Do you think it might be possible that the stories about them are based on a real condition?”  
   
Dave shook his head. “It’s just like it is with most folk tales. They were born out of people’s ignorance and need to explain things they didn’t understand.”  
   
Tom shrugged and pushed a slice of orange into his mouth. “I suppose…”  
   
   
He bid his friends goodnight at the back door of the theatre that evening and took the DLR to Greenwich. It had been a long day, but Tom got off a couple of stops early, hoping a bit of walking might clear his mind. It was past ten thirty and the streets in his neighborhood were beginning to turn quiet. There were still a few dog walkers out and about, but most people were climbing into bed or sitting in front of their tellies, watching their favourite late night shows.  
   
   
Tom was so lost in his thoughts that it took him a while before he even registered the strange sensation of being watched. He slowed his steps and glanced over his shoulder, but the street behind him was empty.  
   
Tom could feel the hairs on his neck stand on end as the feeling of someone following him grew stronger and he picked up his pace. He let out a relieved sigh as he rounded the corner and his front door finally came into view. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his overcoat to fish out his keys, jogging the remaining hundred meters he had left to his door.  
   
Tom stuck the key into the lock as soon as he was close enough to reach it and yanked the front door open.  
   
“Tom?”  
   
Tom yelped and spun around, his heart pulling into a knot in his chest.  
   
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, mate,” Chris apologized, raising his hands in the air in a calming manner.  
   
“Chris?!” Tom had to squeeze his eyes shut and blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.  
   
Chris was standing at the edge of the pavement with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.  
   
Tom hurried inside and closed the door to put the safety chain on before opening it again and peering at Chris through the narrow slot.  
   
“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, cringing as the question came out a little harsher than he intended.  
   
Chris kicked the pavement with the tip of his muddy boot and lowered his eyes. He looked like a small child who had been caught at some sort of mischief.  
   
“I just had to make sure you were ok." Chris' eyes flicked up. "And to tell you the truth I… I don’t know where else to go.”  
   
Tom observed Chris through the crack in the doorway, briefly wondering if the feeble chain would even prevent Chris from getting inside if he decided to invite himself in without Tom’s permission.  
   
“What about your friends?” Tom asked after a while, remembering why Chris was in London.  
   
Chris shook his head, looking even more miserable. “I can’t go to them. They have girlfriends and small children and I…. What if I-“  
   
Chris didn’t finish his sentence, but Tom understood him. He had barely managed to stop Chris from draining him dry the other night and if Chris lost control like that around children...  
   
“I have no idea what the hell is happening to me or what I’m supposed to do,” Chris sighed, shaking his head. "But if you want me to leave, I'll... I'll go and I promise I won't bother you again."

He looked utterly lost, and Tom knew he was probably making a huge mistake, but he closed the door once more and removed the safety chain to let Chris in.  
   
   
   
They were sitting in the living room, and the night was stretching on, but Tom felt wide awake as he turned the page on his Kindle, reading out loud to Chris about the history of vampires.  
   
Chris had assured Tom that the urge to feed had disappeared completely and he was feeling better than he did when they first met. Tom knew he was often far too eager to trust people, always seeing the best in them, but he could tell the sick, sunken look around Chris' eyes had disappeared and it almost looked like his skin was glowing with some sort of inner vitality, which Tom had to admit was strange since they had confirmed that Chris' pulse was almost too slow to detect.  
   
“I must say, you do look better than you did two nights ago,” Tom remarked, looking at Chris from behind the reader.  
   
“Yeah, thanks to you, mate,” Chris said, sounding guilty.  
   
“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” Tom nodded, realizing that it was his own blood that had given Chris’ complexion that healthy glow.  
   
   
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Chris said quietly, shaking his head. “If I had known what would happen… that I was gonna flip out and lose control like that, I wouldn’t have stayed, no way.” His eyes flicked to Tom's neck. "You have no idea how relieved I was to see you're ok."  
   
“It’s alright, you didn’t know,” Tom said softly, though the memory of Chris’ teeth buried into his neck still sent shivers down his spine. He decided to keep quiet about the fact that he'd had to spend hours at the hospital and that he was still eating iron supplements to recover from a severe case of anemia. “We just have to find a way for you to get those… urges under control.”  
   
Chris nodded, but he looked absolutely defeated, and Tom couldn’t blame the poor sod. It wasn’t every day you got turned into an immortal blood sucker.  
   
   
“How old are you?” Tom asked.  
   
“I'm 27. Or I was. I guess I won’t be getting any older than that. No midlife crisis for me, mate.”  
   
“Have you always lived in Cardiff?”  
   
“Nah, I’m from Melbourne. Moved here because- well, it’s pretty stupid, but I moved here because I thought I was in love.  And I was, but it turns out the feeling wasn’t mutual. That was three years ago. I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there since then. I don’t know why I haven’t gone back home... I really miss the beaches and the surfing and-“  
   
Chris fell suddenly silent and they both realized that Chris’ surfing days were over.  
   
   
Tom set his Kindle on the table and shoved a few biscuits in his mouth. “Have you noticed any changes in yourself?”  
   
“You mean other than the need to drain people and feeling like the sun is like a giant barbie?” Chris chuckled.  
   
“Well, I guess my senses are better. My sense of smell is sometimes almost overwhelming and I can hear a whisper through stone walls if I concentrate hard enough. I can also move really fast and climb like Spider-Man,” Chris laughed.  
   
“Ah, so that’s how you managed to get in through my second floor window,” Tom nodded. He got up to throw another log into the fireplace, moving the embers around with the iron poker.  
   
   
“But that's enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Tom,” Chris said, and to Tom's surprise, he seemed genuinely interested.    
“Oh, I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell.”  
   
“Sure there is,” Chris insisted. “How old are you? Married? Any kids?”  
   
“I'll be 35 next month and I think it's obvious that there are no kids or a wife. It's just me,” Tom said, doing his best not to sound as lonely and pathetic as he sometimes felt. “I guess I just haven’t had time to look for anyone special. You could say that I’m married to my work,” he laughed. “I love the theatre. It's been my life for nearly two decades. I suppose that sounds a little pathetic?”  
   
"Not at all." Chris gave him a soft smile from across the room and they spent the rest of the night in comfortable companionship, telling each other about their lives and past experiences. Tom found out that Chris had two brothers back in Australia and the girl he had followed across the world was now married to some wannabe street artist while Chris did construction work and spent most of his days regretting the decision to leave home.  
   
It was close to 5 o’clock in the morning when Tom finally confessed that he could barely keep his eyes open, and they bid each other goodnight. As Tom lay awake in his bed, thinking about the wonderful evening he had spent in Chris’ company, he had to remind himself that Chris was in fact a vampire.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
Chris didn’t leave the next day or the day after that, and Tom went to fetch his duffel bag from the hotel he’d been staying at, but neither of them made any mention of Chris going back to Cardiff. Tom could sense Chris’ reluctance to be alone, and while he took pity on Chris, he also enjoyed his company and Tom had no intentions of asking Chris to leave. Chris did phone his friends, slipping them a little white lie about going back home, not wanting them to worry, but he kept quiet about his newfound bloodlust.  
   
Tom had plenty of friends who he met in and out of his work circles, but he hadn’t even realized how much he’d craved the sort of easy, more intimate friendship he was starting to develop with Chris. They soon fell into a comfortable routine where Chris slept through the short January days while Tom was at the theatre rehearsing his play, often cross-eyed from lack of sleep, and when he came home in the evenings, Chris was up and waiting for him with takeout laid ready for Tom on the kitchen table.  
   
Chris never even took a bite of actual food after the incident with the toast, but he was happy to keep Tom company as Tom stuffed his mouth full of dumplings.  
   
"What do you suppose happened to the vampire that bit you?” Tom wondered aloud one evening. “Aren’t they sort of responsible for the people they turn?”  
   
Chris shrugged. “Maybe I was turned by accident? Maybe my maker didn’t give a shit and just abandoned me?”  
   
“You said your clothes were covered in mud and dirt, so I think she at least made the effort to bury you in the ground, which seems to be part of the whole turning process,” Tom pointed out, his cheeks bulging with dumplings. “But perhaps you’re right and she never meant to come back for you.”  
   
Chris’ expression darkened and Tom felt his heart sink at the hurt look in his eyes.  
   
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
Everything went fine until they were nearing the end of their second week together.

Tom was slowly becoming aware of the change in Chris. It was subtle at first, just little things that weren’t necessary anything out of the ordinary, but they still managed to catch Tom’s attention. Chris’ sunny disposition melted away and he was more irritable, often snapping at Tom for no reason. He seemed to radiate a strange sort of nervous energy, and he was unable to sit still for longer than a few minutes. Tom often caught Chris inhaling his scent and staring at the pulse points in his neck and wrists if they were exposed to Chris’ eyes. The strange, almost predatory look that appeared on Chris’ face during these moments made Tom’s skin crawl, but as soon as Chris smelled Tom’s fear, he seemed to snap out of his haze. He'd look apologetic and give some poorly made excuse to be able to leave the room.  
   
Chris had stayed with Tom for two weeks when the healthy glow of his skin was once again replaced by the sickly paleness, and the tremble in his hands was back.  
   
They both knew what it meant, but neither of them was willing to say it out loud.  
   
   
When Tom returned from the theatre that Saturday evening, he found Chris pacing in the living room like a caged lion.  
   
“Chris? Are you alright?” Tom asked from the doorway.  
   
“Do I look like I’m alright!?” Chris snarled, shooting Tom a vicious glare from across the room.  
   
Tom backed away a few steps, feeling slightly hurt by the harsh tone in Chris voice. He had never yelled at Tom like that. “What’s the matter?”  
   
“I’m so hungry that I can’t even think straight,” Chris cried out. He sank his shaking hands into his long hair and tugged hard. “I’m losing my mind, Tom…”  
   
Tom stepped into the room, but Chris held up his hand and shook his head in warning. “No, don’t,” he said, “what if I can’t control it… I might- I might hurt you again,” Chris said, so disgusted by the mere thought of harming Tom that he couldn’t even meet his eyes.  
   
“Please, is there anything I can do to help? I could go to the market and get you some pig’s blood?” Tom offered.  
   
“I can’t drink that shit again!” Chris groaned in frustration, “it’s like drinking bleach.”  
   
“There has to be something we can do,” Tom insisted. He ignored Chris’ earlier warning and crossed the room, coming to stand behind Chris’ back.  
   
“Please, Tom, go away,” Chris whispered, his entire body shaking as he tried to restrain himself.  
   
“But Chris… what if I let you-“  
   
“No!” Chris spun around and shook his head, his eyes wild. “Not again. Never again.”  
   
   
Tom nodded, equally relieved and disappointed by Chris’ refusal to feed from him. The rational part of his mind knew it was utterly foolish of him to even entertain the idea, but he didn’t know how else to help.  
   
Chris sank into the armchair he had sort of claimed as his own during the past two weeks, looking utterly helpless and exhausted as the hunger in him grew.  
   
   
It was at that moment when the thought came to Tom. “Bloody hell…” he muttered. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”  
   
Chris gave Tom a confused look. “Huh?”  
   
“Wait just a moment,” Tom said, holding up one finger. He disappeared into the hallway and fetched his mobile from the pocket of his overcoat.  
   
He went through the long list of names in the address book until he found the person he was looking for.  
   
“What are you doing?”  
   
Chris followed Tom around the apartment like he were his shadow as Tom made the call.  
   
“Who are you calling?”  
   
Tom listened to the buzzing sound of the phone ringing at the other end, doing his best to ignore Chris’ giant body looming behind his back, and he let out a relieved sigh when there was finally an answer.  
   
   
It took over twenty minutes of persuading and every ounce of Tom’s charm, not to mention a hundred quid and tickets to the opening night of his play until Judy finally agreed to go through with what Tom was proposing.  
   
It wasn’t exactly legal and Tom felt awful about putting his friend through something like this, but he was _desperate_.  
   
Judy rang the doorbell a quarter past midnight, looking very,  _very_  pissed off.  
   
“I can’t believe you made me do this!” she hissed, glancing around at the empty street as she handed Tom the plastic container.  
   
“I’m so sorry, love, I really am,” Tom apologized. “I wouldn’t have asked if it hadn’t been an emergency.”  
   
“What the bloody hell kind of an emergency requires you to get ten litres of O negative in the middle of the bloody night? Don’t tell me you’ve joined a cult…”  
   
Tom apologized again, but he couldn't reveal what the blood was for. “I uh, I might need you to do this again for me in a few months,” Tom said hesitantly as he handed Judy a stack of neatly folded pounds and a VIP pass to his upcoming play.  
   
“What?” Judy exclaimed, but she was distracted when her eyes caught sight of Chris, who had appeared behind Tom’s back. It seemed his ill face was enough to make her forget what she’d been about to say next and she simply stared at Chris.  
   
“Is your friend quite alright? He's not on drugs, is he?” Judy whispered, her eyes wide.  
   
“Thank you, Judy, I really mean it,” Tom said, ignoring her remark. “You’re a lifesaver, darling.”  
   
   
“What is that?” Chris asked as soon as the front door had closed.  
   
He tried to grab the container from Tom, but Tom held it against his chest and made his way into the kitchen.  
   
“My friend works at the hospital. She was able to sneak out some blood for you.”  
   
Chris’ pupils dilated at the mention of blood and his eyes lit up with that familiar hunger that made Tom’s skin prickle and break out in goosebumps. Tom opened the latch on the container and the moment Chris caught sight of the bags of blood inside, his upper lip curled back and his fangs protruded from his gums. He began to pant like a rabid dog, and Tom was shoved aside as Chris lunged in to grab three bags of blood, eager to sink his teeth in them. He hurried up the stairs, and Tom followed on his heels and he watched as Chris disappeared into the bathroom. Tom found him hunched in the clawfoot tub, tearing into the first bag of blood with his sharp fangs.  
   
Chris’ chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths as he drank down the blood in hungry gulps. He was sloppy in his feeding and some of the blood was running down his chin and neck, painting the front of his white t-shirt crimson.  
   
When Chris was done emptying the first bag, he let it drop from his hands and bit into the second one, his bloodlust showing no signs of being sated.  
   
Tom watched Chris with a mixture of awe and fear. There was something absolutely animalistic about Chris as he fed, hunched low in the bathtub, drinking down the thick liquid, and Tom was suddenly reminded of the nature documentary they had watched last week where a large lion had buried its teeth into the flank of a poor defenceless antelope.  
   
The sight of Chris made Tom’s spine and lower stomach tingle with arousal. He gasped as he felt his prick stir in his pants, averting his eyes from Chris and hurrying downstairs, afraid that Chris might somehow smell or sense his arousal.  
   
   
Tom took a seat on the living room couch and leafed through the magazines on the coffee table as he waited for Chris to finish his meal, not really seeing anything his eyes landed on.  
   
It took another five minutes for Chris to appear in the doorway.  
   
Tom watched as Chris wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Half of his face was still stained with blood and there were long trickles of red running down his neck. His fangs were still out, but there was a glazed, utterly satisfied look in his eyes.  
   
Tom startled a little as he realized Chris was scenting the air, his nostrils flaring with each inhale.  
   
“I can smell it, you know,” Chris said, his voice lower than Tom had ever heard it.  
   
“Smell what?” Tom whispered.  
   
“Your arousal.”  
   
Chris crossed the room in a few long strides, coming to stand in front of Tom where he was sinking deeper into the sofa cushions. Chris looked huge and menacing from this angle and Tom felt like a cornered animal. He let out a quiet whimper when Chris kicked Tom’s feet apart and forced him to spread them wide as he moved to stand between them.  
   
He leaned down, invading Tom’s personal space in one fluid move. Tom shivered as Chris pressed his crimson lips against the shell of his ear.  
   
“I know you’re hard, Tom,” Chris whispered.  
   
Tom squeezed his eyes shut, feeling another jolt of arousal at the words. He let out a quiet sigh when Chris pressed his large hand against the unmistakable bulge in Tom’s trousers, palming his rapidly hardening cock through the rough material.  
   
“Chris…”  
   
“Shhh, it’s ok,” Chris murmured, a hint of amused laughter in his voice. “ _I’m hard too_.”  
   
Tom’s eyes shot open and he watched with bated breath as Chris wrapped his long fingers around Tom’s wrist and guided his hand between Chris’ thighs.  
   
Oh, Chris was hard. _Very hard_. And bloody huge! Tom marvelled at the feel of the thick erection pressing against his palm through the fly of the worn jeans.  
   
Chris was watching Tom closely, his smile still more predatory than Tom was used to. The air of danger Chris gave off in waves was almost overwhelming and Tom felt a heady rush of fear and arousal coursing through his veins.  
   
Chris lowered himself onto Tom’s lap, and the position was a little awkward at first since they both possessed such long limbs, but Chris was able to manoeuvre himself in a way that allowed them to grind against each other. The pleasure that shot through Tom as their arousals touched through the strained fabric of their pants was so immense that he cried out with sheer surprise.  
   
Chris leaned in to swallow his moans, sucking on Tom’s lips and sliding his tongue into his mouth, the coppery taste of blood adding a strange and carnal edge to their kiss. Tom could still feel Chris’ fangs against his lips as they kissed, but Chris was careful not to hurt him.  
   
“I know you’ve wanted me for days,” Chris smirked, slipping his hand between them to work their pants open. “I’ve smelt it on your skin, in the sheets in your bed, the bathroom after you shower…”  
   
Tom felt embarrassed, a deep blush heating his cheeks, but the feeling was lost as soon as Chris slipped his hand inside Tom’s slacks and pulled out his achingly hard cock. He gave it a few strokes, rolling back the foreskin to reveal the glistening head before pressing Tom’s prick against his own erection, so thick and hard that Tom could only stare at where their cocks were sliding against each other inside Chris’ large hand.  
   
Tom was spilling pre-come all over their shafts and Chris used it to make the movements of his fist smoother. Chris’ own cock was as hard as Tom’s and to Tom’s surprise, it was glowing with warmth. He noticed that Chris’ entire body was radiating heat and his normally pale cheeks were almost ruddy. Tom frowned, wondering if this whole thing, including what they were currently doing, was even voluntary on Chris’ part. Perhaps it was just a reaction Chris was having from the feeding. Perhaps… perhaps it had nothing to do with Tom.  
   
“Hey… hey,” Chris whispered, his voice suddenly gentle. Tom glanced up when he felt Chris cup his cheek. It seemed he had guessed where Tom’s train of thought had headed. “It’s probably true that it’s the blood I just drank that allows me to get hard, but, Tom, I promise you, I really want you,” Chris smiled. He leaned down to press their lips together in a soft kiss, the fangs now hidden. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I followed you home from the theatre and you allowed me to come in. The way you smell, it’s bloody delicious, mate. I couldn't have stayed away from you even if I tried.”  
   
“I do hope it’s not just the way I smell that brought you to my doorstep,” Tom chuckled.  
   
“It’s really not,” Chris growled, squeezing their erections together.  
   
Tom leaned in for another kiss, a sense of comfort and sheer joy blooming in his chest. He wrapped his hands around Chris’ broad shoulders, feeling the movement of his powerful muscles under his palms as he slid them across the expanse of his back.  
   
They moved together in perfect rhythm, rolling their hips and grinding against each other, fucking into Chris’ tight fist. It was Tom who came first and they both stilled to watch as his come shot out in thick streams, most of it landing on Chris’ fingers and the hem of Tom’s shirt. Tom slumped back against the soft cushions, his eyes now fixed on Chris’ cock, and he watched as Chris continued to stroke himself in a quick pace, drawing closer to his orgasm.  
   
Tom rubbed his hands across Chris’ muscular thighs, urging him on. “That’s it, darling, let me see you come,” Tom murmured.  
   
Chris threw his head back and went completely rigid in Tom’s lap. His cock throbbed in his fist, but Tom raised his brows as he realized there was nothing coming out from the slit on the crown. Chris was panting and shaking in Tom’s arms with obvious pleasure, but his orgasm had been completely dry.  
   
Chris glanced down at his hand and pressed his cheek against Tom’s shoulder, taking in huge gulps of air.  
   
“Nothing… nothing came out,” he said, his voice hoarse and unmistakably disappointed.  
   
“Hush, it’s alright,” Tom murmured, rubbing his hand against Chris’ neck. “It doesn’t matter,” he pressed a kiss to Chris’ temple, “the important thing is that you enjoyed it, love.”  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
The fictional vampires Tom had seen in movies and books were often cold and melancholy creatures, driven by bloodlust and plagued by deep depression and dark, joyless thoughts. Chris was nothing like his fictional counterparts. He was charming and kind and so full of life that Tom often forgot about the darkness that lurked underneath the exuberant, easy-going nature and the jovial smiles.  
   
For a vampire, Chris was also exceptionally cuddly and he often crawled into Tom’s arms to watch him sleep. It was a little unnerving at first when Tom awoke to find Chris lying next to him, his luminous eyes staring at him in the darkness of the bedroom, but once he got used to it, Tom enjoyed the feel of Chris’ large body pressed against his own, his thick arms wrapped around Tom as he guarded his sleep.  
   
Chris refused to harm anyone, but drinking from animals was also out of the question, because the taste was unnatural to him. Which is why it was lucky that they had managed to make a permanent deal with Judy, and so far, no one had caught them. She still didn’t know what the blood was for, but she stopped asking after the first few times, which Tom was thankful for. They had known each other since childhood, having grown up on the same street, and she was one of the few people Tom knew he could trust with almost anything.

But Tom knew they would eventually have find another way to keep Chris fed. Even if they hadn't been caught, their luck would run out sooner or later. Chris must have been aware of this, but Tom didn't want to bring it up just yet, not when Chris was still struggling with the knowledge that he was sustaining himself with human blood.  
   
Chris still slept through the daylight hours, something in him driving him into deep unconsciousness when the sun came up, and it was Tom's turn to keep Chris safe. Tom was beginning to accumulate an impressive amount of sleep debt, as he rarely went to bed before three in the morning, not unless Chris insisted that he get some sleep. Tom didn’t exactly know what Chris did while he slept, but he had a feeling that Chris didn't venture too far from the safety of their flat, still too traumatized by getting caught outside at dawn.  
   
And if you didn’t count the odd hours they kept and Chris’ liquid diet, their life was like any other couple’s. Chris had never been in a relationship with a man before, and it took a bit of guiding from Tom to get their sexlife going, but what Chris lacked in experience he made up with in eagerness.

Tom loved the rough, carnal rutting and the way Chris took control in bed despite being almost a decade younger than Tom. The first few days after feeding were always Tom's favorite, because Chris' lust was almost insatiable and he could get hard just by looking at Tom or inhaling his scent.

He had a very powerful dominant streak, but it didn't mean Chris didn't enjoy handing the reins over to Tom from time to time.  
  


The water in the bathtub sloshed against the edges as Tom's hand moved rhythmically beneath the surface.

"Feels good?" Tom murmured against Chris' neck, glancing down at where his fingers were wrapped around Chris' cock.

"Feels bloody fantastic," Chris sighed. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as Tom slid his left hand over the expanse of Chris' broad chest down to his groin and beyond, slipping two of his fingers between the cleft of Chris' ass.

He moaned quietly when he felt how loose Chris still was from their earlier fucking and he pushed his fingers in gently, earning himself a pleased grunt from Chris who was beginning to teeter closer and closer to the edge of climax.

Tom increased the pace of his hands, smiling at the way Chris leaned against Tom's chest, his hands shooting up to grip the edges of the tub.

Tom felt Chris pulse inside his fist and he watched, eyes wide, how Chris' mouth fell open and his fangs pushed out as his orgasm shook his entire body, every muscle flexing.

Chris' eyes snapped open as soon as he realized his fangs were out. He clamped a hand over his mouth, leaning away from Tom's arms, letting out a grunt as he fought to regain control, forcing the fangs to withdraw.

"Sorry about that..." Chris said, giving Tom an apologetic look over his shoulder.

"It's ok, love, no harm done," Tom smiled gently, pulling Chris back into his arms.

   
There were also times when the creature within Chris drove both of them mad. It didn’t take long for Tom to find out that Chris was very possessive of him and his inability to join Tom during the sunlight hours filled him with frustration and paranoia. Tom didn’t know if Chris had always been the jealous type, but his jealousy, which usually reared its ugly head around the time when Chris was growing hungry, was completely unwarranted and sometimes so over the top that Tom didn’t know how to react to it.  
   
   
Tom was glad to be home after a long day of rehearsals and he greeted Chris from the front door. There was no answer and Tom glanced at his wrist watch to make sure he wasn’t too early. It was past six and the sun had set almost an hour ago. Chris should be awake.  
   
“Darling? Are you up?” Tom called as he hung his coat on the wooden coat rack and kicked off his wet shoes. He jumped a little when Chris stalked into the hallway from the study.  
   
“Chris? Is everything alright?” Tom asked, taking note of the deep scowl he was receiving as a greeting.  
   
“You stink like that woman again,” Chris growled, moving closer. He sniffed the air around Tom and wrinkled his nose. “It’s disgusting.”  
   
“Chris… We’ve talked about this,” Tom sighed, rolling his eyes. Chris tried to block his way to the kitchen, but Tom shoved him aside. “Lucy’s my friend and I work with her and we play lovers in a play. It’s our job.”  
   
Chris followed on his heels and Tom could feel his accusing eyes on his back.  
   
“I don’t like it,” Chris said.  
   
Tom glanced at him over his shoulder as he filled the kettle with water and he had to hold back from laughing; Chris looked like a petulant child.  
   
“Her stench is all over you and I hate it,” Chris said, his voice laden with hurt and disgust. He crowded Tom against the counter, invading his personal space, pressing his larger body against Tom’s back.  
   
Tom let out another tired sigh and set the kettle on the stove. He turned around and cupped Chris’ pouting face in his hands. “Chris... You know I’m not even interested in women, don’t you?”  
   
Chris didn’t look convinced, the scowl still in place.  
   
“And even if I was, it doesn’t mean I would look at my friend from work any differently.” Tom leaned closer to press his forehead against Chris’, his thumbs stroking the clenched jaw. “Why would I, when I have you?”  
   
That seemed to do the trick and Chris leaned in to plunder Tom’s mouth, the kiss hungry and possessive.  
   
“You're mine,” he growled against Tom’s lips, his thumbs digging into Tom’s narrow hips. “ _Mine_.”  
   
Tom threw his head back as Chris began to nibble at his jaw, nosing at the coarse, neatly trimmed beard Tom was sporting for his role. He moved down along Tom's neck, his mouth pressed against Tom's Adam's Apple, and Tom went completely rigid when he felt the fangs slide out against his skin.  
   
The air in the room was suddenly loaded with tension. Chris continued to pant against Tom’s neck, his fangs still out and scraping the stubbled skin of Tom's throat. There was a brief moment when Tom was sure Chris was going to sink them into his neck to truly mark Tom as his, but the moment passed and Chris eventually withdrew, hurrying out of the room.  
   
Tom didn’t even think about following him, knowing that Chris needed to be away from him to calm down. He rubbed his neck where the skin was still wet from Chris’ mouth, letting out a breath he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
As the gloom of winter passed and gave way to fresh blooms and warm spring air, Chris’ mood seemed to plummet. He was forced to stay indoors while the world outside of their apartment went on, never getting to enjoy it until nightfall.  
   
   
Their bedroom was pitch black, and the extra thick blinds in the windows didn’t let in even a single ray of sunlight, but Tom could sense the spring morning outside. He stretched his stiff limbs and reached out to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. The soft light from it wasn't enough to wake Chris, but it allowed Tom to see where he was going and keep from stumbling or colliding with the furniture.  
   
Tom rolled onto his side to watch Chris’ sleeping form next to him. He shuffled closer and his breath caught in his chest when he saw the red stains on Chris’ face.  
   
He sat up and leaned closer, feeling his heart ache as he realized the stains were blood.  
   
“Oh, love…” Tom whispered, brushing his thumb against the crimson streaks.  
   
Chris had been crying.  
   
The first time it happened was during the ending of E.T. and both of them were a little horrified to find out that vampires seemingly cried blood.  
   
   
Tom knew he couldn’t clean Chris’ face without waking him, and he knew from past experience that Chris got scared if he had to be up during daylight hours. Tom had accidentally disturbed Chris' sleep a few weeks ago when he'd broken some dishes in the kitchen. The loud noise had reached Chris' ears and he had dashed into the room to make sure Tom was alright, his fangs out and gaze disoriented. When he'd sensed the sun was up and realized it was midday, Chris had frozen in the doorway, so frightened that Tom had to pry his fingers off the door frames.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Chris awoke twenty minutes before sunset. He rolled out of bed and walked to the windows, aware that it wasn’t yet nightfall. His fingers brushed against the thick, black curtain and he felt an almost overpowering urge to pull it aside and peer out at the world. He could picture the last rays of the sun hitting the rooftops as it sank into the horizon, painting the sky a bright orange.  
   
His thoughts continued to wander, and memories of home flooded his mind: the hot summer heat on his naked skin as he carried his surfboard toward the waves, his toes sinking into wet sand as he waded into the warm waters.  
   
“Chris?”  
   
Chris' eyes snapped open and he pulled his hand back from the curtain.  
   
“I need to be at the theatre soon. We need to get ready.”  
   
Chris could smell Tom had just come from the shower, the scent of his shampoo thick in the air.  
   
He joined Tom in the bathroom and as Chris glanced into the mirror, his eyes went wide when he saw the bloodstains on his face. He felt something akin to a flush even if his skin remained pale. Tom met his eyes in the mirror. He gave Chris a fond, albeit a little sad smile.  
   
“Here, let’s get you cleaned up.”  
   
Tom picked up a clean hand towel and dipped one corner into the warm flow of water from the faucet, and Chris allowed him to clean his face of the dried tear stains.  
   
“You miss your old life, don’t you?” Tom spoke quietly as he continued to pat Chris’ face clean with the towel.  
   
Chris nodded, unable to hold in the quiet sniffle.  
   
“I’m so sorry, Chris,” Tom said, his brows twisting down. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”  
   
Chris shook his head, setting the towel aside and taking Tom’s hand in his own. “You’ve already done so much for me,” he said, afraid that he would never find the words to express his deep gratitude. “I would have been lost without you, Tom.”  
   
Tom smiled softly, brushing his hand against Chris’ smooth cheek.  
   
“Alright, I need to finish getting ready here,” he grabbed the razor from the cabinet and filled his palm with white foam, lathering it around his goatee to tidy up the rest of his face. “You go on and get dressed. The suit we got for you is hanging from the closet door in the bedroom.”  
   
Chris returned to the dimly lit bedroom, his bare feet slapping against the old wood floor. He removed the suit from its protective bag and laid it out on the bed, about to begin the process of dressing himself when he heard a loud yelp from the bathroom. It was followed by a litany of curses and Chris’ nostrils flared as the smell of Tom’s blood overwhelmed his senses.  
   
Tom startled and dropped the razor into the sink when Chris shoved his way back into the bathroom, crowding Tom against the tile wall.  
   
“Chris! No…” Tom gasped, holding two of his fingers against a small cut below his jaw. The flow of blood was sluggish and no more than a few drops, but it was enough to send Chris’ mind reeling.  
   
He could do nothing to keep his fangs in and they began to protrude from his gums as the smell of Tom’s blood flooded into his nostrils.  
   
“Chris…” There was a clear warning in Tom’s voice, but Chris could smell his fear, thick and raw.  
   
His mouth fell open and he began to pant, his lust for blood muddling his thoughts. He pressed Tom tighter against the wall, grabbing his hands and pinning them above his head.  
   
Tom trembled as Chris finally laid his eyes on the small cut.  
   
“Please, try to control it,” Tom gasped, but his voice sounded distant in Chris’ ears. All he could hear was the rapid thumping of Tom’s heart and the almost hypnotic rush of blood in his veins.  
   
Chris leaned in and pressed his mouth against the cut, the rich, salty taste of fresh blood exploding on his tongue. His fangs pressed against Tom’s skin and he could feel the desperate hammering of his heart against his tongue.  
   
Chris squeezed his eyes shut.  
   
 _No_ , a small voice inside him cried out. _No_.  
   
“Tom…” Chris breathed. His tongue flicked out to lick the tiny droplets of blood into his mouth. “Tom,” Chris repeated, as if to remind himself that the trembling creature beneath him was someone he loved.  
   
 _No._  
   
Chris savored the taste of blood on his tongue, but his fangs withdrew and he began to lap at the wound, urging it to heal. They still didn’t know what it was that allowed Chris’ body to heal, but he had discovered he could do the same to the bite marks he had left on Tom’s neck on the night he had attacked him.  
   
The same didn’t seem to apply to the wound Tom had received from his razor and Chris’ brows drew together in a scowl.  
   
He could feel Tom’s hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him away.  
   
Chris leaned back, blinking his eyes, suddenly aware of what had happened. Tom stared at him, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He was still shaking all over, but there was a weak, slightly surprised smile splayed across his lips.  
   
“You resisted it,” Tom breathed.  
   
Chris felt his own lips curve up in a smile as Tom’s words reached him through the lingering haze of bloodlust. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Tom’s lips. “I’ll never hurt you again.”  
   
 

* * *

  
   
   
The play was a huge success, even if Tom nearly forgot a few lines and one of the stagehands fell ill 24 hours before the premiere. He was still buzzing with excitement when they got home after midnight, his blood thrumming with excess adrenaline.  
   
Performing live always gave him such a high.  
   
It seemed Chris could sense Tom’s excitement. He nearly shoved Tom in through the front door, so eager and hungry for him that he began to rip Tom’s expensive dress shirt off without any care for the buttons that came flying off under Chris’ rough pulling and yanking.  
   
Tom found that he didn’t much care for the state of his shirt as he felt Chris’ hands on his bare chest, his thumbs brushing against Tom’s nipples, teasing them into hard nubs as they exchanged hungry kisses, leaning against the railing of the staircase.  
   
Chris broke the kiss long enough to divest himself of his own clothes, tossing his suit jacket on the floor, followed by the white shirt and the black tie.  
   
“Lovely,” Tom hummed appreciatively as Chris’ muscled chest was revealed to his eyes. He wound his arms around Chris’ neck and allowed Chris to carry him up the stairs into their bedroom where they fell on the wide four-poster bed, rolling around as they attempted to get out of their trousers between kisses and eager touches.  
   
Tom grabbed the lube from the nightstand while Chris was still busy kicking his boxers down his long legs and he settled down on his back, leaning his head against the soft pillows, parting his legs to make room for Chris, pulling him into his arms.  
   
They watched each other, their noses touching, both of them already of breath.  
   
“You were magnificent, mate,” Chris smiled, tucking Tom’s wavy, overgrown hair behind his ears. “No one else on that stage could hold a candle to you.”  
   
Tom blushed a little, but he couldn’t deny that he loved the praise.  
   
“You smell so good tonight,” Chris sighed, burying his face in the crook of Tom’s neck, inhaling deeply.  
   
Tom could feel Chris’ cool breath against his skin and he wasn’t sure what made him do it, but in the next moment he was craning his neck in an open invitation.  
   
Chris recoiled, the look on his face conflicted.  
   
“It’s alright,” Tom whispered. He brushed his palm against Chris’ cheek. “I trust you.”  
   
There was naked fear in Chris’ eyes, but Tom could see the want written all over his face. Chris licked his lips, coming a little closer, his movements hesitant.  
   
“You have my permission,” Tom nodded.  
   
“I won’t hurt you,” Chris said, his voice so sincere that Tom felt his heart swell.  
   
“I know you won’t.”  
   
   
There was a brief stinging sensation as Tom felt Chris’ fangs break through the skin, but it was soothed by Chris’ tongue as it poked out to lap at the tiny trickle of blood. Tom wrapped his hand behind Chris’ neck to pull him closer.  
   
The pain returned briefly as Chris sealed his mouth around the bite and began to suck, but it was soon replaced by the strange sensation Tom still remembered from the night when Chris had first fed from him.  
   
Tom felt his cock swell between his legs as Chris continued to feed, and he could tell there was a matching hardness rising between Chris’ own thighs.

They both moaned and rocked against each other as pleasure flowed through their bodies with every drop of blood Chris drew from Tom.  
   
“So good,” Chris groaned against Tom’s neck. “You taste so good…” His entire body shivered as Tom’s blood, laced with adrenaline, filled his mouth.

  
   
Chris withdrew long before Tom was in danger of getting light-headed, sealing the bite marks. His lips were painted red and he shared the coppery taste with Tom through a deep, languid kiss.  
   
“Do you feel alright?” Chris asked.  
   
“Oh, I feel better than alright, love,” Tom grinned, his eyes dark with lust.  
   
Chris continued to explore Tom’s body, moving down along his chest, nibbling his skin and sinking his fangs gently into the flesh above Tom’s left nipple. Tom buried his fingers into Chris hair to guide his movements as Chris continued to feed, the pleasure they were both drawing from it almost overwhelming.  
   
When Chris sank his fangs into the supple flesh of Tom’s inner thigh, Tom cried out and came all over his own belly, his cock pumping out its release in thick bursts. Chris continued to suckle and lap at the skin until the bite was healed, moving higher to inhale the scent of Tom’s musk which was richest between his thighs.

  
   
Chris sat up and knelt between Tom’s long legs, a satisfied grin splayed across his lips.  
   
“I never knew it could be like this,” Chris said, watching Tom in awe, dipping his fingers into the pool of cooling come on Tom’s stomach to bring it to his mouth for a taste “I never knew I could give you so much pleasure.”  
   
Tom nodded, slowly stroking his already renewed arousal. He spread his thighs wider, flicking his eyes to where the bottle of lube lay forgotten.  
   
Chris took the hint and Tom watched as he prepared his erection, pouring some of the cool slick to Tom’s own fingers so he could slip them in and out of his hole and open himself for Chris.  
   
“Come on, fuck me,” Tom urged, wrapping his fingers around the base of Chris’ cock and guiding it to his opening, letting out a content sigh as he felt Chris slide in.  
   
The old bed creaked as Chris began to fuck Tom in a steady pace, one hand seeking out Tom’s cock to stroke it in time with his thrusting.  
   
He leaned down to nuzzle against Tom’s neck once more. “Can I?” Chris whispered into Tom’s ear.  
   
Tom nodded, eager for the pleasure he knew Chris could give him. He cried out as Chris sank his fangs into the firm meat of his shoulder and began to suck.  
   
Tom blinked as he realized he could feel Chris’ cock swell and harden inside his body as he fed from Tom, the sensation equally overwhelming and pleasurable. He felt his own cock throb against Chris’ fingers as he began to come, his second release spilling out of him in wet spurts.  
   
Chris continued to rut into Tom’s body, increasing his speed, and he took one last taste from Tom’s shoulder before he withdrew his mouth, his cock pulsing inside Tom’s body in a dry orgasm.  
   
Tom wrapped his arms around Chris’ back and held him against his chest, kissing his temple which was completely devoid of sweat in spite of the exertion.   
   
Chris pulled out and rolled over, not wanting to crush Tom under his weight. He pressed against Tom’s side, breathing in the musk and sweat of his skin, savoring the familiar scent. They cuddled for a few minutes, and Tom could feel Chris was still hard against his thigh. Chris began to move against Tom in a telling way, but Tom had to shake his head.  
   
“I’m afraid I need a moment before I’m ready for another round,” he laughed, unable to keep up with Chris.  
   
Chris gave him a decidedly pathetic whine and Tom rolled his eyes, taking Chris’ cock into his hand and pleasuring him with expert strokes. It wasn’t long before Tom felt Chris thrusting into his fist, letting out soft pants as Tom jerked him to a swift but powerful orgasm.  
   
“Wake me up before sunrise, alright?” Tom said through a yawn, drawing Chris tightly against his flank. “I have a surprise for you.”  
   
“A surprise?” Chris grinned. The blood stains around his mouth made it a rather absurd sight. “What is it?”  
   
“You’ll find out in the morning,” Tom murmured.  
   
 

* * *

  
   
Tom was jostled awake by Chris’ excited poking and shoving and soft kisses. “It’s almost dawn,” Chris informed.  
   
He was yanking at the covers and pushing at Tom until Tom finally grinned into the darkness and sat up.  
   
“Alright, I’m up,” Tom said, allowing Chris to take his hand and lead him out of the bedroom.  
   
They stopped in the hallway as Chris realized he didn’t know where they were supposed to go.  
   
“Well?” Chris gave Tom an expectant look. “Where is it?”  
   
“In the living room,” Tom smiled, watching Chris with sleepy eyes as he dashed down the stairs.  
   
Tom let out an amused chuckle; he had no doubt that Chris had already searched through the entire flat while Tom slept.  
   
Tom turned on the lights on his way to the living room. Chris stood at the center of the room, shaking his head. “There’s nothing here.”  
   
Tom pressed his hand against Chris’ naked chest and gave a light shove until Chris took a seat on the couch. He joined him and burrowed against Chris’ side, taking the remote from the coffee table to turn the tv on.  
   
The clock on the mantelpiece was quarter past five. Perfect timing, Tom thought as he looked for the right channel.  
   
Chris let out a gasp when the picture on the large tv screen filled with the familiar London skyline. The first rays of the sun were beginning to glow in the horizon and the city was painted in soft orange and pink hues of the morning.  
   
“I installed a camera on the roof of the building. You can watch the sunrise and the city below whenever you want.”  
   
“Tom…” Chris breathed, his voice thick with emotion, but he was unable to take his eyes off the tv screen as the sun finally began to climb up to the sky.  
   
Tom pressed his cheek against Chris' shoulder, feeling the borrowed warmth of his skin, and together they watched as the sun came up, welcoming the new day. 


End file.
